


The Color of Permanence

by unkissed



Series: The Color of Deception [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Explicit Language, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5925403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James has the uncanny ability to make you desperate from a hundred miles away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Color of Permanence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ColorfulStabwound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/gifts).



> If you haven't read any of the stories in the series, read at least "Wet Gold" before reading this one.
> 
> Many thanks and purple heart emojis to my bestie and muse, Colorfulstabwound.
> 
> For Jamie. Happy early Valentine's day.

“The Color of Permanence”

 

 

You are heart-sick and lonely when you give in and owl him.

 

_J,_

_I miss you._

_Love,_

_T_

It has been two months since you’ve seen him. Touched him. Kissed him. Fucked him behind a matrix of wards and spells to hide from the world. He’s your dirty secret. He’s your dark affliction. Your hopeless addiction.

 

 

_T,_

_I know you do._

_\- J_

It’s always on his terms. It’s maddening. James has the uncanny ability to make you desperate from a hundred miles away.

 

 

_J,_

_I need you. Don’t tell me that you know, you smug bastard. Just come. Please._

_Love,_

_T_

He sends your owl back to you without a reply. You know it is entirely your fault that James is this cruel to you. He belongs to the world now, and you gave up any rights to his heart (or his body) when you broke it. You are not entitled to call him back to you on a whim. But you’ve been doing it on a semi-regular basis anyway.

 

He doesn’t have to come. James is a hot, young, international quidditch star. He gets what he wants and fucks who he wants, and you might as well be just another discarded conquest. You don’t know what hurts more – the fact that he’s had dozens of lovers since you, or the fact that he doesn’t need you anymore.

 

It always surprises you when he does come. Always in the dead of night, always without warning.

 

Tonight, you wake up to his warmth pressed against your back. Sleep still has its loose tendrils around you, and so you think you’re dreaming. He’s very much like the nocturnal emission fodder of your boyhood – hard body, smooth skin, and devious lips descending upon you, unseen, from out of the darkness.

 

He kisses your neck and whispers hotly behind your ear, “I heard a rumor that you missed me.”

 

You want to be angry with him for making light of your turmoil. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be alone, haunted by memories of his love and his phantom touch, sequestered in a stone castle in the Scottish Highlands. But how _could_ he know? You’ve never told him how much his absence has affected you. You worry that he’ll feel stifled if you do tell him. The last thing you want to do is hold him back.

 

Though you never tell him with words, you show him with hungry kisses. You kiss him like it’s the first time and the last time – reckless and unpracticed, desperate to add to your stash of memories, to horde away the taste of his mouth and the electric feel of his fingers creeping into the front your pajama pants.

 

You skip the small talk and the banter and lay him down on your bed. You’re eager and concurrently angry at him for violating your much needed sleep, as you nearly rip the clothes from his body. Every subsequent time you’ve done this, you’ve unveiled a different person beneath the garments. He’s changing so much that it scares you. He’s so painfully beautiful that you could weep and watch your humble tears roll down each gentle swell of his abdominal muscles. Each cut is deeper now, more defined. He’s not a scrappy kid who’s fast on his broom – he’s a chiseled athlete. He’s an Adonis. He’s a man. _Shit_ , he’s more of a man than _you_ are _._

When you worshipfully run your fingers along his rippling torso, you feel unworthy of the privilege. He’s a god, and you’re compelled to pay homage with your mouth on his cock – even _that_ part of him feels more massive than before, which is saying a lot. He tastes like he’s always been yours when he spurts down your throat, his fingers tangling in your bright, pink hair, your name on his breath like he’s drunk on your love.

 

It’s not until you push inside of him that you’re reminded of who he really is. He’s not that celebrity _Chaser Extraordinaire_ when he’s spread open and heaving wantonly beneath you _._ He’s just Jamie. And you can almost believe that he’s yours alone. You fuck him languidly, drawing out each wet slide, imparting with each slow thrust just how much you will miss him when he’s gone.

 

You fall asleep in a tangle of sweaty limbs. Maybe he’ll still be there when your alarm wakes you for morning classes. You never dare to hope. It’s rare that he stays. This time is no different. The shrill tones jolt you awake. Your bed is cold and still damp with remnants of sex and sweat. Jamie is gone. Your chest aches because you already miss him and you’ve no idea when you’ll see him again, or how you’re going to cope.

 

You are about to flick your wand at the sheets to strip them from the bed when you see something sparkle. A thin chain of gold snakes through a tiny gilded crown on the indent of the pillow where Jamie’s head had been. You assume Jamie had unknowingly left a part of himself behind, but the clasp is closed. Which means he had to have taken it off and placed it there purposely.

 

You’re stunned. Jamie has never taken off his protective gold necklace, as far as you know, since the day you strung the crown on it – the day he gave himself to you for the first time.

 

Your heart shatters into a million pieces. You feel more definitively discarded than you ever have before.

 

James Sirius Potter is a god now. He doesn’t need the protection of his mother’s magic. He certainly doesn’t need a token of your broken relationship. He doesn’t need you - he could not have made this fact clearer.

 

You walk through the rest of the week like a ghost, moving along by force of habit and by no motivation of your own. Your lessons are lackluster and you don’t even care that your students are falling asleep in your classes.

 

You are so lost in your own empty world that you don’t notice it right away when an owl drops a letter on your plate at breakfast one morning. You weren’t really consciously eating your eggs enough to realize that the envelope had plopped right down in the yolk. Putting your fork in the paper startles you out of your mental fog.

 

You wipe the yellow mess from the envelope and recognize Jamie’s handwriting. You almost don’t want to open it. He already broke you. Does he have to rub it in? Of course he does. This is James, and he wouldn’t be who he is if he were not vindictive.

 

Of course you can’t resist reading the letter. You’ve always been a glutton for punishment where Jamie is concerned.

 

 

_T,_

_Haven’t heard from you. Wondering what you did with my chain. If you don’t want it, just toss it in the rubbish._

_-J_

 

You can almost hear his voice as you read the letter. You can hear his nonchalance just barely covering his hurt. You can see him casually shrugging his shoulders to distract you from the fact that he’s falling apart on the inside. You know him well enough to understand what this short missive really means.

 

He says he hasn’t heard from you. It means he’s been waiting to hear from you, perhaps looking for your owl on a daily basis. He’s wondering what you did with the necklace – this means he purposely left it for you and expects you to acknowledge this fact. He tells you that you can toss it, as if the necklace means nothing to him. But you know that it means everything to him.

 

Despite all that he’s said and all that he’s done, his feelings for you have never changed. He still loves you. It somehow breaks your heart into a million pieces while also making it swell with too much emotion.

 

Tears sting the corners of your eyes right there in the Great Hall, so you rush back to your private quarters. You’ve kept the gold crown on its chain in the drawer of your desk, set neatly in its own compartment, separated from the paper clips and quill tips. You carefully take it out, hold it tightly in your palm and clutch it to your chest, as if Jamie could feel it like an embrace.

 

You know what you have to do. It is what you should have done a long time ago - What you have always been too afraid to do. You’ve never been so sure of it. Maybe it isn’t the best thing, but it’s what you want, and it is high time that you mustered the courage to do it. You’re filled with emotion and you find yourself bawling like a baby in the middle of the day.

 

You hastily write a reply to Jamie’s letter and send it off straight away, telling your owl to hurry.

 

 

_J,_

_I want to return it to you in person. Please come at your earliest convenience._

_Love,_

_T_

 

 

 

As expected, he doesn’t write back to tell you if or when he’s coming. It’s been two weeks, and you’re worried that you’ve misinterpreted his letter. Maybe he meant exactly what he said. Maybe your initial interpretation had been correct all along and the necklace doesn’t mean much to him.

 

But then he shows up at your office during the day for a change. It’s after classes on a Friday, when he finds you grading papers. He’s got his hands in his jacket pockets and he looks cold on so many levels. You want to pity him, but you know that emotion is wasted on somebody like James, who thrives on steeling his emotions and projecting only the parts of himself that make him look strong.

 

He greets you with a curt _hey_ and a little nod, as if you’re just old mates. You set down your papers and smile weakly at him, worried that this isn’t going to go the way you had hoped. He doesn’t look happy to see you and you think that maybe you’ve made a mistake.

 

“You wanted to see me?” he asks, sounding just like one of your students.

 

You flick your wand to shut and lock the door behind him. “I did.” You offer him your chair and sit on top of your desk. He looks like an indignant child who is about to be scolded unjustly.

 

“What did I do?” he asks. This is all too teacher-student for your liking. This isn’t how you and Jamie are supposed to be with one another.

 

You feel a painful tightness in your chest. You inwardly berate yourself for being a stupid, lovesick idiot. “What do you mean?”

 

“What did I do to lose you?” He looks up at you with storm-blue eyes that reflect the tempestuousness of his heart.

 

Your own foolish heart drops into your stomach. You lean forward and take his face in your hands. “Oh, Jamie…,” you breathe out with a forlorn sigh.

 

Now you realize that _he_ interpreted _your_ letter the wrong way.

 

He recoils and slips away from your touch. “Don’t fucking patronize me, alright?” he mutters bitterly, “Just give me the chain, tell me to fuck off, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

 

James is hard headed to a fault. It’s so very _Jamie_ and amusing enough to make you laugh a little.

 

He narrows his eyes at you and pouts. “Do you have to be so bloody cruel?”

 

You fall to your knees before him, still giggling. “Gods, you’re so fucking cute, I can’t stand it.”

 

You hold out the chain, devoid of its gold charm, and motion to put it back around his neck. He flinches back.

 

“I meant it when I said you can chuck it if you don’t want it,” he says.

 

You roll your eyes at him. “Hold still.” You close the clasp and admire the chain returned to its rightful owner.

 

“Hardly necessary,” he scoffs, glancing down at the thread of gold around his neck.

 

“Of course, its necessary. It’s got very strong magic. You’ll need it to protect you. I don’t want anything or anyone to damage my Jamie.”

 

He looks at you, brow raised, wordlessly questioning if he’d heard you correctly. You cup his cheek in your palm and smile. “Thanks for giving it to me, but I don’t need it to remind me of you. I’ve got you right here.” You take his hand and place it over your heart.

 

And for the first time since he walked in sulkily, he smiles. It’s a small one, but it’s enough to light up your whole world.

 

“Don’t I get my charm back?” he asks.

 

“You’re charming enough,” you joke and you both laugh softly.

 

You take him gently by the back of the neck and press your forehead to his. “I love you, Jamie,” you whisper, “You know that, don’t you?”

 

“Everyone loves me,” he says woefully, devoid of arrogance. He knows it’s a curse.

 

“Not like I do,” you say, barely audible. “Nobody will ever love you like I do.” You tilt your head to kiss him. It’s soft and pure, like the way he loved you at fifteen-years-old.

 

You pull away to retrieve the miniscule crown from your desk. But you don’t return it to him the same way he left it. You have transfigured it. It’s larger now. Large enough to slip onto Jamie’s left-hand ring finger.

 

You gaze into his eyes, and you see yourself reflected in them. You can decipher the color of your hair, just from the way he’s looking at you. Your mutual adoration blooms in brilliant purple from the roots to the curled tips, and you think your hair will never fade from this color.

 

“Let’s stop being stupid, yeah?” You lift his hand to your lips and press a gentlemanly kiss to the ring you’ve just put on his finger.

 

You can tell that he wants to laugh, and the corners of his mouth start to go in that direction, but he breathes out shortly and it comes out less mirthful and more lamenting. The awkward sound embarrasses him, and so he bites the corner of his lip, which trembles slightly. His eyes try to roll, but they just glisten with impending tears. James has never had to deal with this much emotion all at once. At least, he’s never had to suppress such a wide range of emotion in one moment.

 

He sounds like he’s choking on all of his feelings when he speaks, trying and failing to cover it up with sarcasm. “If you stop being cryptic, maybe we can give it a go.”

 

You hold both of his hands just to steady yourself, lest you swoon too hard. “Marry me, Jamie?” Your words are a quiet, but desperate entreaty.

 

You have always wanted him to be yours, and yours alone, but you’ve never had the courage to take him. You never felt you deserved him. But whether or not you deserve him is irrelevant right now.

 

He’s still fighting back tears, but they spill over his cheeks when he starts to smile too brightly. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says, dramatically feigning coyness, and then adds seriously, “No really. I didn’t think you had the balls to even date me.”

 

Your eyes widen. You’re suddenly very embarrassed. “Shit. Was that too much? Skipping the whole dating thing and going straight to the marriage proposal?”

 

Jamie rolls his eyes properly this time. “We’ve spent our whole lives together. Dating is sort of superfluous at this point, don’t you think?”

 

You giggle and your cheeks match the ruddy shade of his. “Probably.” You fold your arms around him and press your smile to his. “So, is that a _yes_?”

 

 

~//~

 

 

He’s still your affliction. He’s still your dark addiction. It still hurts like an amputated limb when he goes away. You still crave him on cold nights in the castle, and still draw upon memories of his firm body beneath you to get you through lonely weeks without him. You still close your eyes and masturbate lazily to the sound of his disembodied voice in your head and the taste of his ethereal lips sweetly assaulting your mouth. He still taunts you with cryptic letters and drives you to near madness with long stretches of no communication at all.

 

He’s still Jamie. He’ll never change. But you don’t want him to. You want your love for him to hurt the same way it did when it was forbidden. Because the moment you stop missing him is the moment you become complacent. And you never want your marriage to be that way.

 

He spends weeks on the road, playing quidditch, slaying dozens of admirers with his smirk alone. The gold wedding ring he wears does nothing to deter his rabid fans, and he leaves broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. He’s a shameless flirt. He’s a whore for the paparazzi cameras.

 

But when he comes home, he comes home to you. To the cottage you built in Hogsmeade on the site where the Shrieking Shack once stood.

 

He is your best friend, your brother, your lover. He is your lionhearted king. He is your everything.

 

Above all else, he is yours.

 

And you are his.

 

Forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
